


Twisted Endgame

by humanities_angstiest



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Crack, M/M, Plot What Plot, Spanking, The Author Regrets Nothing, coran is an unintentional voyeur, don’t think about the twister moves too much or at all really, except that she has no life, if that wasn’t clear, keith is just as bad, lances competitiveness knows no bounds, more like a singular spank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 02:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11370567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanities_angstiest/pseuds/humanities_angstiest
Summary: Inspired by this textpost on tumblr by miraculousspacegays:the space squad playing twister:coran: right hand on redlance: *smacks keiths ass*





	Twisted Endgame

It’s Lance’s turn to pick a game for game night, and Hunk and Pidge wrongfully assume that being limited to whatever Altean board games are on the castle-ship will spare them.

Fools.

Not even being willingly trapped in space, galaxies away from Earth and all its fabulous creations, prevents Lance from choosing the game he never — _never_ — loses.

Blessed with long limbs and an appreciation for morning yoga, Lance dominates in Twister. True, Hunk’s build and Pidge’s goblin height give them disadvantages, but Lance also plays with his siblings and among the rest of those with the McClain genes, he still comes out as the undeniable victor.

You know what Lance is also fantastic at? That’s right, crafts. An unsuspecting Allura shows him where the crafts room on the ship is and using the paints and a white canvas sheet he finds, Lance makes his own Twister mat.

“Nooo,” Pidge groans when she sees it.

“How?” Hunk whispers, staring at the mat like it is the ghost of the one he helped Pidge burn back at the Garrison.

“What is it?” the naive victims — Allura, Coran, and Keith — ask at the same time.

Shiro takes it upon himself to explain the game. When he mentions the spinner, Lance produces it out of his jacket pocket and it is passed around the room.

“Then you find a vacant circle of that color and place your hand or foot there. If you lose your balance and fall down, you’re out.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

Lance grins wickedly at Keith. Even if in the grand scheme of things it is just a silly game of Twister, Lance will wipe the floor with Keith and be crowned ruler of the universe. Or not, because that’s sort of what they’re fighting against. But the main idea stands; Lance will finally beat Keith at something.

Coran swipes the spinner out of Hunk’s tight grip and to two of the paladin’s dismay, declares he will be the Spinner, since game night is another opportunity for them to bond as a team; therefore, they should all participate. Hunk and Pidge grumble and groan, but eventually take position around the mat.

With so many players, Pidge is the first to fall, her short limbs unable to reach the far away yellow circle with her foot after all the ones close to her are claimed.

“Damn,” Pidge says with a smile, crawling away from the tangle of bodies on the mat.

“Language,” Shiro warns.

Allura and Shiro fall simultaneously. Allura cheats by extending the length of her arm to reach the blue circle Shiro aims for, and with nowhere to put his hand, Shiro pulls back to look for another spot when Hunk shifts to move his own arm and knocks him off balance. Shiro laughs good-naturedly about it while Allura frowns, unhappy that she lost.

A few rounds go by where nothing changes. Left foot on red. Left hand on green. Right foot on blue. Hunk, Lance, and Keith are stuck in a stalemate. Lance waits patiently, and soon enough, Hunk tries to turn over to reach the blue circle behind him and topples to the mat.

Lance figured Shiro would have lasted longer, but he is not surprised that it is now him and Keith, neck and neck. 

“Right foot red,” Coran cheers, not once losing enthusiasm as the game drags on.

“Left hand yellow.”

“Left hand green.”

“Left hand blue.”

Shiro, Allura, Pidge, and Hunk grow bored as the stalemate shows no signs of breaking and leave to do other things.

Coran calls out another command and Lance follows it, gritting his teeth as Keith completes the command with ease as well.

“Give up now, Keithy-boy, and I’ll try not to lord my win over you too much.”

“Not a chance,” Keith growls, slamming his left hand down on green. “Afraid you’re going to lose?”

“I’m not afraid!” Lance shouts, twisting his arm underneath him to reach the green circle.

Lance’s head is even with Keith’s hip and Keith’s face is turned away from him but Lance can easily picture the determined set to Keith’s jaw. The mat is starting to feel sticky from their sweaty hands drifting over it for the past varga. Lance feels a bead of sweat roll down his forehead and he can’t help but feel a thrill; the game has never lasted this long before when he’s played with his siblings or friends. Keith is a challenge, as he knew he would be.

Lance shifts his left foot the tiniest bit to relieve it of the pressure from holding one position for so long but it backfires and suddenly Lance is hit with the intense pain of a charley horse. The pain, which might cause his downfall soon if he can’t shake it, and the intense need to win overrun Lance’s mind, which is his justification for what happens next.

“Right hand on red,” Coran calls out.

Lance smacks Keith’s ass.

He’s been spending too much time with Keith because damn was that impulsive, but Lance isn’t thinking about how dead Keith is going to kill him, his mind isn’t even running in circles screaming _oh shit oh shit ohshit_ like it normally would. He’s too distracted by the sinful moan that spills from Keith’s lips.

Coran says nothing.

Lance says nothing.

Keith’s body is tense, limbs locked tightly in place, but his voice hides whatever he is feeling as he commands Coran to give the next move.

“Left foot on yellow.”

Lance places his hand on a red circle on the mat then moves his muscle-strained foot to yellow.

They follow Coran’s orders in a daze, at least Lance is in a daze, because did that just happen? Did he really smack Keith’s ass and Keith moaned in pleasure?

Lance forces himself to concentrate on Coran’s voice, not Keith’s breathing. Keith is purposely trying to mess with him; his moan was a ploy to distract him but it won’t work because Lance now knows about Keith’s desperate attempt to win and two can play that game. The unspoken do-whatever-it-takes-to-make-the-other-person-lose game, not Twister.

Coran calls for left hand on red.

Lance thinks about what he’s doing but does it anyway. He places his hand on Keith’s ass.

Keith says nothing and that irks Lance; is he so confident he’ll win that he doesn’t feel the need to call Lance out?

The thought angers Lance. His hand squeezes.

“Aaah,” Keith whines in a breathy voice.

Lance’s eyes widen and his hand relaxes but doesn’t move from its position.

“Right foot on blue,” Coran cheerily says, unbelievably oblivious or purposely dense to the red and blue paladins’ actions.

Lance and Keith move their feet and that brings them face to face. Lance can see Keith’s refusal to back down in his intense, darker-than-normal eyes. Lance swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

“Left foot green.”

They step forward and now Keith’s leg is between Lance’s thighs. Lance catches Keith’s smirk right before Keith raises onto his tippy-toes so his leg brushes the sensitive region between Lance’s thighs. Keith repeatedly drops and raises his leg, rubbing it against Lance’s dick, and Lance would have happily ascended to heaven long ago if not for the unquenchable need to beat Keith in whatever game this has become, because it sure as _fuck_ is no longer Twister.

Coran calls for them to move their right hand to green and that brings Lance closer to Keith, close enough that when he leans forward, his lips brush the shell of Keith’s ear.

“Did you like it when I spanked you?” Lance grins as Keith’s breathing speeds up. “I’ll do it again, whatever you want, baby. All you have to do is fall.”

Keith turns his head to the side and brushes his nose along Lance’s neck. Lance shivers when Keith bites his lobe then whispers hotly in his ear.

“And if I don’t? What will you do if I misbehave, Lance?” The way Keith says his name is unholy and Lance nearly crumbles. Nearly.

“Uh, numbers three and four? Are you meant to be that close?”

“Call out the command, Coran!” They shout simultaneously. Well, Keith technically yells “What’s the next move, Coran,” but their message is the same. Neither is backing down.

Coran pauses but then says, “Right foot on yellow.”

Lance is in a bridge position with his stomach facing up, and there is a yellow circle on the outside of Keith’s left foot that would stabilize his position, but he opts for the yellow circle at the back corner of the mat. Lance has to stretch his leg further but he manages it; his foot brushes along Keith’s thigh on its way to the yellow circle and when it lands, their pelvises are pushed closer together.

“Left hand on red.”

Keith leans back and rests his hand behind him as Lance wobbles on one hand while he straightens up from his bridge pose. Now he is squatting awkwardly, but his main man Coran helps him out and calls the next command quickly.

They make mirror images of their previous positions, with Keith assuming Lance’s abandoned bridge pose, facing the ceiling only for his view to be interrupted by a smirking Lance, whose hand tucks a strand of Keith’s black hair behind his ear on its way to the blue circle beside Keith’s head. Keith leans into his hand as he does.

Lance could hold this position above Keith and maintain a decent foot of distance. He chooses not to. He leans down until his nose brushes against Keith’s and stares challengingly into Keith’s violet eyes, noticing for the first time the flecks of grey scattered like stardust throughout them.

“It’s your move,” Lance whispers.

Coran gives them a command but Lance quickly forgets it as Keith raises his head and presses his slightly chapped lips against Lance’s. Keith’s lips move gently but insistently against his and Lance feels like he has fallen into a black hole; nothing exists outside the point where his lips connect to Keith’s, not time nor space nor Twister.

Lance is distantly aware of Keith pressing forward because it’s what prompts him to lean backward. Lance nips at Keith’s bottom lip to see what effect it will have and wants to smirk at the moan vibrating in Keith’s throat but instead he moans in response as liquid fire spreads from their connected lips down to his groin.

Keith’s hips shift back as his mouth travels down to suck at Lance’s neck and that is unacceptable. Lance lifts a hand to press Keith against him and that is his final mistake. Though he doesn’t know what his first mistake was, because it definitely wasn’t kissing Keith.

Lance’s back hits the mat hard and because he is gripping Keith around the waist, Keith lands on top of him, their teeth clacking together painfully.

“I win,” Keith gloats, smiling despite the bleeding cut on his lip.

Lance lays there, struggling to breathe as he stares up into galaxy eyes. “I don’t feel like I lost,” he admits. Lance can feel Keith’s smile pressed against his lips.

Yeah, he definitely didn’t lose.

***

One week later, it is Keith’s turn to pick a game.

When Coran sees the spotted canvas mat, he swivels on his foot and speed walks out of the lounge, muttering to himself that watching one human mating ritual was more than enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I smile every time I read that text post. I sent it to my friend yesterday and then got inspired so I wrote this shit in a day.


End file.
